Happy for Now
by jkwasher
Summary: Romances have Happily Ever Afters (HEAs.) Mysteries have Happy for Nows (HFNs) to set up the next book. I hope we get something like this during Season Six.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Happy New Year!**_

 _ **After self-proclaimed fan royalty threatened to report me for updating you on the progress of my novels, I removed the accompanying story and took a bit of a hiatus. If you noticed that both it and I disappeared, I apologize, I would have taken it down in a few days, but it was not done in a voluntary manner. Just an FYI, some of my mystery characters do appear in one of the Longmire stories from last year.**_

 _ **BTW, both novels are coming along nicely, which brings me to, "Hi, I'm back!" I should have a Wordpress or similar site up early 2017 to blog & give updates and foil the grouches and grinches here. I'll pass along the details when it's ready.**_

 _ **Fiction is broken into formulaic components known as "tropes." While romances have HEA (Happily Ever Afters) in their tropes, mysteries generally involve HFN (Happy for Now) tropes to set up each successive book. For your consideration, here's an HFN, which could easily transform into an HEA…Right now, it looks like this story will probably evolve in two parts.**_

 **Happy For Now**

 _ **(Hoping we get this someday in the Longmire television future…)**_

"At least you're well rid of Tucker." Walt threw it over his shoulder as he added kindling to build up the cabin's fire against the snow falling thick and soft outside the window. He jerked his head ruefully. "Although I know we can't discount him in the future. He still wants this land, and he's relentless."

I held a celebratory Rainier, and a cold one lay on the low table next to me, waiting for the moment he was ready to imbibe.

"You're right, and after today, he'll never give up trying to upend us." I toasted with the beer, bald and frank. It took only that one moment for him to see me unguarded, after years secreting my feelings. "He'll try to divide our loyalties, split us somehow."

I couldn't help it if the fear of the future and accompanying sadness seeped through. I was pretty sure he saw my lips tremble after I said that. I was at once jubilant and terrified. On top of that, Walt and I would be alone in the current storm for at least a day or two. That was maybe even more terrifying than the prospect of Tucker and the future.

Of course Walt referenced my deposition to Tucker early on in the Wrongful Death Suit. As designed, it had played havoc with my self-control and confidence, especially for the last few weeks before the trial. The roller coaster of baby and post-baby hormones had not helped that.

And also of course, the whole sorry compilation of B.S. was now finished in court, although it might take a longer while to sweep it from the corners of our minds. Walt was right. I was sure it would stay imbedded in Tucker's, and that we had not heard the last from him.

Walt stood up from where he kneeled by the fire, and was across the room in an instant, his huge hands grasping my upper arms, pulling me to his broad chest. I was now but not from our exertions outside preparing for the snowstorm. No, whatever happened now had been a long time coming, a long time hidden, a long time controlled, and any feelings totally denied.

That could be said for both of us.

My mind criss-crossed with what might have been and what might be, moving forward. Now, with Dave's blessing, we no longer had to hesitate, nor did we need to parry with those misfiring oblique phrases at which we had both become so proficient. We could now, do, well, _whatever_ , without censure. At least, that was my working theory, and it seemed like a pretty sure thing for the next day or two, since at the moment we were absolutely alone in a blinding snowstorm.

I shut my eyes, savoring both the warmth and strength of Walt's presence, the mixed aromas of wood smoke and wood, the faint tang of man-sweat and horse. His bristled jaw rested against the side of my head where he had tucked me into him. It was heaven.

We both were giddy at the termination of the suit, pronounced only that morning by the grudging judge who had given us so much grief along the way, including months of extensions and delays. If he gave us any additional grief, I thought it prudent for someone in another county's law enforcement to eventually make some discreet inquiries about this judge. He wasn't merely incompetent, he had been blocking Walt's every move for years, and I suspected, on the take from either Malachi, Tucker, or both men. I was pretty sure Walt suspected, and if I was proficient enough to notice it, surely so would other people.

But this _particular_ suit _, dismissed with prejudice_ , meant Tucker could never bring it back into Absaroka County court again. That was our celebration tonight.

In the wake of the pronouncement, Ruby rushed to us with tears in her eyes, hugging us all. Tucker was now exposed for his outrageous all-encompassing greed for Walt's property. Sawyer, no longer mayor, disgraced and dismissed, apparently slunk away in the night. Maybe he was hiding in Mexico or Belize, right now, I didn't fucking care, all that mattered was he was _gone_.

Who knew that of all people, Jacob would come through for Walt? Fond of Cady, and grudgingly accepting of Walt's role in protecting him, Jacob had decreed Walt's coverage as fair in spite of a skeleton budget and danger to personnel, and exposed Tucker and Sawyer's scheme to gaslight Walt. Jacob received more than a little help from Dave, who questioned him as a hostile witness. but fuck, the strategy worked like a charm. Somehow the Irish mob had totally disappeared off the radar in all this, but I sensed them lurking in the background. I figured they had hedged their bets to return if Walt had been deposed as sheriff..

Dave, forebearing Dave. Walt thanked him with a fervent but quiet handshake afterwards and told him he owed him one. I wanted to hug Dave, but still in professional mode and from long habit, refrained.

"I dunno, Walt, I could be persuaded to take my fiancé to your cabin, if you ever manage to get out of town a week or two. She says she wants to experience the quiet rustic retro vibe. It's evidently _in_ now. I'm into keeping her happy. What makes Stacy happy makes me happy. Just sayin'."

Walt had not answered right away, but for some reason caught my eye. He spoke almost hesitantly. "We might be able to make that happen in the spring. Let me think on it."

That I might have some part of the solution to that equation certainly intrigued me. As far as I know, I'd never been part of any Longmire plans with either father or daughter. That might have changed now, because Walt seemed to have a new agenda in his head. He was always thinking, but he didn't always share those ideas with those of us around him. This was a new development he had not shared with _moi_.

After thanking Dave, Walt had shaken hands with what seemed like the whole courtroom.

When it came Omar's turn, he became a little misty, having been appointed as mayor pro-tem by the Chamber of Commerce just the evening before, and announced a meeting in his office for the Chamber and the Sheriff's Office directly after the trial. The outcome of the trial had not only pleased him, but saved his business and possibly, given him a new career.

"We'll act on the resolutions we make today either tomorrow or when the roads open up, let's hope it's before May." Pragmatic. I liked him that way and in the Mayoral spot, as long as he refrained from calling me _Vicky._

Walt made an excellent suggestion as he released Omar's hand.

"While you're temporary mayor, you could run unopposed now that Sawyer's out of the picture."

I thought that would be a terrific idea. Omar running for Sawyer's position would be a tidy way to accomplish a semi-permanent defeat of the Sawyer contingent, but even more than that, Omar would represent the not-so-big businesses concerns, the ones which grew counties but didn't sell souls. I was pretty sure Omar would be good at that, and he and Walt trusted one another. After our experiences with betrayal from those we trusted over the past couple of years, that was a _huge_ recommendation. I would like to see Omar succeed and his businesses flourish.

While I stood there just behind Walt, Henry walked up the aisle from the back of the courtroom. I hadn't even known he was in attendance. Something had been going on between those two, and split lips and black eyes were only outward signs. Right now, Henry had an expression on his face I had never seen before. Regret, maybe?

I quickly turned back to Walt, who had just accepted a heart-felt hug from May Stillwater. He straightened as his friend of forty years approached to stand before him. An unsubtle tension crackled between the two men. I felt for them— _something_ had come between them, I knew it. I wasn't sure what, only that it was profound on some elemental level.

"It is well," Henry said, and they clasped arms to the elbow before falling back to their customary reserved demeanors.

Walt leaned and whispered into Henry's ear. "I want them back,"

I wondered what he wanted back. Oh, well. I could ask later. With our new accord, Walt might even tell me. My optimism cautiously soared.

As we exited the courthouse, Walt unusually close by my side, palm in unconscious warmth at my lower back, he looked down at me with hint of a grin. "You think Betsy would be up for a tour of Wyoming next spring or summer?"

I thought of Dave's suggestion and didn't answer. Instead, I blushed. Fuck, _me,_ blushing. Who would believe that? No one I knew, for sure. It made me almost euphoric, though, because additional thorns had been plucked from our side during the course of the trial.

Dave quickly discredited Monte, who had created much of the "evidence" for Tucker, for unethical, cherry-picked and incomplete work. We had heard just this week Monte suffered nationwide reversal of his P.I. license, and had, according to Ferg, cleaned out and left Durant. Good riddance. Clean P.I. work would be welcomed, his kind…reviled.

Malachi, Darius and most of his thugs now rotted in prison for long terms, Malachi in well-deserved solitary and on Death Row for multiple murders. Huge sigh of relief there for ASD. _Finally_. The chain of events Malachi's arrest and Barlow's machinations had begun blended with Jacob's casino and Irish Mob into a deadly toxin which Walt and Dave had hopefully neutralized, for the present. I wanted to have a private word with Dave myself at some point. I still had some Philly thorns Dave might help me defuse, and then I'd feel more comfortable letting Vic Moretti's own hair color return. I only hope Walt would be okay with that—he seemed partial to blondes.

No thorn, Ferg proved himself removing one of ours. He'd never needed to defend his actions to any of us at ASD, and worked for weeks identifying the mob thugs who had ambushed him. He secured mob arrests in four different states. A chance clue at one of the mob arrests linked the mob to of all people, the persona of Cowboy Bill. It may not have been precisely for Meg, but it was obvious he wanted to redeem himself for the Eddie Harp incident.

Using the mob bust evidence, Ferg was able to tie Andrew Price to Cowboy Bill and stopped the crime wave in one afternoon.

Andrew must have hung around one too many actor-types in Hollywood figuring out how to repay his not-so-mellow California-variety loan sharks, some very affiliated with mob actors, including those in Boston. So it wasn't just heroin and assassins, it was clubs with mob backing. Who knew in our remote corner of the nation we were infiltrated by such layers of slime?

The oh-so-polite melt-in-your-mouth videos of Cowboy Bill were the only times that kid didn't run his mouth on us. Of course my own mouth had him beat any day and I crushed the interrogation Walt felt obligated to recuse himself from, maybe in deference to Donna or their prior relationship.

It took me barely an hour before I had Andy, no longer _Andrew_ crying, literally crying, and a full confession. I kinda felt sorry for him. His mom had been tougher in the flesh than Mr. Snowflake ever would be. _Good riddance, fucking little man_. It didn't hurt that he had probably been brutally honest to Walt about how his mom sailed through men. That had obviously left its mark on Andrew, but I left that discussion for another day, another battle. Bill was no longer a bandito, and Donna remained a gray but not particularly troubling moment in Walt's past.

My win also included more mob links…which we fortunately did not have to follow up on. The Feebs briefly trespassed our house again, kinda glad we took down Cowboy Bill. Towson even reluctantly shook my hand. I managed not to gloat. Walt pretty much ignored him and stayed out of the office on sheriffing errands like drinking coffee at the Busy Bee until Towson left.

"I might have punched him out myself for how he treated you during the Wayne Durell incident, and then I'd be in more trouble." He said it serious, but his eyes twinkled and made me laugh. It was because he knew, had always known that even when he'd been on the mountain, I'd defended him. I suspected Ferg of telling tales, but in this case, I didn't object.

I think Walt had slowly put the puzzle pieces together, or at least had suspected for a long time. I think he had subconscious Donna radar, too, why he could never quite focus because he thought he cared about her. In reality, I think he held himself back after trying to submerse himself in her, because he eventually realized she wasn't the person he had originally thought.

My own Spidey-sense guessed was he was holding out for Martha, but that's also something for us to discuss in the future. We've not had that discussion, yet. I know I can't live up to his memories of her, and wouldn't ever try that. I'm just fucking _me_ , and it's take me or leave me, faults, psychic warts and all.

Of course that left Chance in the general prison population, not on the requested Death Row. Once Walt explained his reasoning to me, and made a private plea to the judge in his chambers, that made sense. Chance might have missed getting me at the river to get at Walt, but thought he'd gotten Walt just the same. Walt's fingerprints were on that gun. We rounded up Chance's sister-in-law and nephew with a warrant after the attack on me. The nephew rolled and revealed the only reason Walt's prints were on the gun, along with those of some minor player (I later found was Gorski.) Those prints were only there because they had both disarmed the nephew during the kidnapping fiasco involving Sean, me, and a duel.

One had taken it from the nephew's hand, and the other tossed the gun away. It was too good a set-up for Chance to miss, and I fell into Chance's trap. I wasn't proud of it.

Of course Walt wouldn't and hadn't murdered any Census Agents, but Chance wasn't above trying to frame him for it. Chance got sentenced for conspiracy to commit murder and tampering with evidence, all because of that trifling incident.

In the end, my baby remained the only sacrifice to Chance's prison-based murderous schemes. Yes, my baby, the one who should have been Walt's and mine but wasn't _,_ taken down by Chance's sister-in-law in the river. My body waited a full week for the baby to miscarry after her attack. Travis and I had thought the danger past, but it hadn't been.

Walt had stood by me both at the hospital and after, in spite of not being the dad. He asked no questions, although I wanted to tell him. At the time, I was just too drenched in guilt over the conception, the deceit, and in causing the loss, to even talk about it. Maybe this weekend, we could begin to clear that air.

Travis seemed affected, too, but probably without reason. After seeing the ultrasound results, I had narrowed it down to one person. I set Travis straight on that in about five seconds as I was recuperating from the miscarriage while Walt took a much-needed break.

'You said it was fifty-fifty." His accusation annoyed. _He_ annoyed. He had never _not._ His heart might seem kind, but I could only endure his presence in small doses.

I bit my lip. "It was fifty-fifty, that was true, until the ultrasound."

"Walt's, huh?" He sounded so sure, and smug. As kind as he had been, this was not called for in any way. I had, after all, just lost a child.

"No." My lips bunched. I struggled with how much to reveal for a few seconds. "Not Walt's, but it doesn't matter, now."

Walt tried to get me to stay with him after I left the hospital, but I refused because of the upcoming trial. By standing by me while I was hospitalized, the whole world already thought he was the dad. He had not once wavered, either using the morals clause in my contract, or in betraying his personal feelings. Unfortunately, with the suit hovering over us, his support couldn't continue, and it became like living in limbo.

Ultimately, because Walt had killed Chance's brother years back, my baby became a legacy of the Gilbert family tragedy, just a written off scrap of humanity against a larger stage.

I went home to Betsy and was able to fend off most of Travis' apologetic visits.

Of course Walt had to know I still grieved, and that I still struggled with it every day. He was too observant not to know. Even though it didn't just 'go away,' and Walt's easy company in our work routines definitely helped, I still felt underlying sadness. I realized my own contribution to the loss never quite went away, and at some point, I probably needed to talk with someone. I suspected both those things might take a very long time.

It was also pretty obvious that Walt felt horrible about the whole sordid interlude which had separated us and driven me to be careless with other men. What wasn't as obvious was that the very distance which had made it possible for us to grow stronger when we needed to work best together, left us both vulnerable, awkward and twisting in the wind whenever the other came close. In short, we were a fucking _mess_.

I still had nightmares over bagging Dr. M's unmentionables as evidence in Walt's cabin. It spoke volumes that I only found out about their split after I'd miscarried, and that Walt pretty much stayed glued to my side until well after I left the hospital.

"What does Donna think about you being here?" I asked early-on in the hospital, while I lay doped up on painkillers. The pain from the beating resulting in the miscarriage still overwhelmed me. It might only be a couple of busted ribs, but everything surrounding and behind them remained tender for a long time.

"Doesn't matter. Donna and I were never really together. We were a thing but not really a thing."

I tried to absorb that, but I was flying high and that sped right by me.

I said slowly, maybe slower because of the meds, "You sure thought you were _a thing_ when she was missing." That remained a statement of fact, even through the drugs. No one could have missed that intensity or drama of his feelings for her then, much less me. I had kissed him to try and bring him out of more than one kind of stupor, er, stupidity. It was only when I lay there in the hospital that I thought maybe I might have had success in that. It felt like I had changed the eventual trajectory of his intent, if not his actual feelings for her.

"I thought I couldn't remember. Later, like much later, I realized there was nothing _to_ remember."

But that admission had been early on after my loss. He had never elaborated on what being a thing but not a thing was. All I knew was, I didn't want to be that with him, or to him. I wanted to be more than that, more than _a thing._ Of course, in the thick of that, and to his defense, because of Dave's admonitions to stay away from me, I probably had been the last person to learn of their split. Maybe, now the trial was over, I would find out what that actually meant. My courage to ask was growing.

Post-verdict, in the courtroom corridors, Walt quietly invited me to celebrate and ride out the storm with him at his cabin, for the dismissal of the case had accompanied the first flakes of what was predicted to be the year's worst major blow to date. It would be the first time we would be alone together since Arizona. I had been married then, and oh, so conflicted. How things had changed. _Alone together._ What an odd phrase.

"I'm not comfortable with you staying at the trailer park through this one, Vic."

Even when I had first moved to Wyoming, a piece of me would have said it was none of his fucking business. Now that I knew him better, it warmed me inside that he worried about me. I cut him slack in that department, especially since the duel with Chance. He had obviously tried to suppress it after Branch, which had only confused me, because I really needed his presence, then. That was then, and I was no longer confused.

This time I took him seriously. He knew Wyoming, and he had never tried to exert his authority over me, before. I tried to decide if I should follow my gut and concede, or retreat and ride it out alone as I always had before.

Then he uttered the magic little-used word not in the Walt Longmire vocabulary. "Please."

That stopped me. What could I say? I agreed to go, but maybe in mutual self-defense, neither of us discussed more than groceries, fuel for the generator, and whether there were enough oats and hay for Horse. Neither of us debated whether it was wise for Walt to cohabit with a Terror for days on end, especially one who had previously given in to weaknesses of _longing_ and _lust._ We also didn't discuss equally important but seeming-too-personal logistics like birth control or sleeping arrangements. Maybe because they might not be needed, but again, they might. I had been scrupulously careful about my pills since the miscarriage, and had been discreetly tested for anything more lasting while in the hospital. Hopefully Lizzie and Dr. M hadn't left Walt any cooties should we venture to try anything in the next few days.

The whole enterprise sounded so impulsive for us both, in any event, weather or not. It had taken us so long to get to where we were. Were we really ready for how it would impact both of us after the fact?

It seemed to take hours to get supplies and drive slowly since the snow had buried the road. He stopped at the station to change from court clothes, and waited inside the warm Bronco while I changed and packed a bag inside Betsy. When we finally arrived at the cabin, there was no time to reminisce or wallow. Walt spent the first half hour in the buffeting wind and sheets of snow, hammering in metal posts and stretching ropes along them to the stable. While still in the truck, he handed me heavy work gloves sizes too big so my hands wouldn't freeze to the posts. He had on a similar pair.

With the wind reddening my cheeks, I huddled in my beanie. I insisted on helping, at least holding posts while he pounded each in and strung out the rope.

"Why?" I stamped my feet and blew on my hands as we walked, posts and the remaining coiled rope under his arm.

He looked up, squinting in the onslaught of the wind.

"I don't plan on winning the case and then dying in the wake of a stupid storm because I didn't take precautions. I have to come down to break Horse's water and give her flakes of hay, and I definitely want to come back to you."

If my cheeks weren't already ruddy, they were after that statement. What could I say in reply to that? "I want you to come back, too," I said almost shyly, then spoiled the tender moment by shouting, "Fuck you, Wyoming weather!" shaking my fists to the sky.

I think I got the best part of the deal, watching those bunched muscles work out the aggressions left from Tucker, from Jacob, from Malachi, in spite of the weather. Okay, and it didn't hurt that how he looked at me while he swung that hammer kept me plenty warm, at least at first. By the end of the half-hour, all my extremities felt frozen, but my heart was pretty damned warm. That tided me over while he was able to restock Horse.

We ran back up to the house like kids, throwing snowballs, insults and laughter, all much-needed catharses after the long months leading up to the trial. It felt great to laugh, feel free, and be with him. As Doctor Moretti, it was best medicine to what had ailed us for so long.

I knew at least one reason for Walt's invitation resided at the Chrysalis Mobile Home Park, where by now, Old Betsy no doubt now lay fully fucked under copious white pillows. After the first dusting, my home sweet RV had turned into the Frosty Fortress of Solitude. I hoped Travis would be all right during this one in his own rented mobile home down the street from Betsy. He had a lot of Wyoming skills, included surviving his mom, but his place had suffered two busted pipes in that first bad freeze of the fall and he'd bunked on Betsy's sofa for a week until they'd been fixed.

One week of Travis had been enough to make me want to pull Old Betsy to a winter hookup and take refuge somewhere else, to wait to wander Wyoming with her next summer. I didn't plan to offer her to him, now. He might bet the wrong idea, like that he and I might take up again somehow. No-way, no-how. This go, Travis might have to opt for hunkering down with his mom.

The prospect of next summer carried promise with it…and possibly Walt's company. At least, that was if I hadn't misunderstood him with Dave, and then outside the courthouse.

Walt had offered to put Betsy up here at his cabin for the winter if I were so inclined. I held off making the decision pending the outcome of his trial, but I was pretty sure if Betsy was invited for the duration, I was, too.

I also guessed that Travis may have been Walt's second reason for the invitation. Although neither of us had discussed it, Walt probably put two-and-two together at some point and figured Travis, newly-moved to the trailer park, might be one of the baby-daddy candidates. Since I was pretty sure of the finalist but it wasn't something I was proud of, it made no difference, anymore. I had been celibate since the miscarriage. That maybe surprised me the most, that I was willing to wait…for Walt, or nothing. If something amazing didn't happen between us, then I would re-evaluate, but I had finally figured it out. This time, Walt was worth it, no matter how long or tough the wait might be.

Maybe I was growing up.

I imagined this would all be part of the upcoming blizzard discussions, to see how the two of us rubbed along in the logistics of life without the intrusion of sundry humanity, and possibly dead bodies. Given the severity of the endless loops on the weather radio, I anticipated several days getting to know one another in a very cozy environment.

Aw, who am I kidding? I hoped both of us were ready to fuck like bunnies until exhaustion kicked in, we rested a bit, and continued more of the same. We had sure waited long enough. I knew the attraction was there, we were supplied, not working for the moment, and at a place in our lives where we could enjoy it and see where it took us.

And, even if it hadn't been discussed, I was clean, green and good to go. With any luck, Walt was, too. Hopefully people would stay home and give us those days of reprieve.

Eamonn had taken up rent-free residence at the casino courtesy of a grateful Jacob to handle any calls there. He had set up a training center working with some of Mathias' officers to rotate in and out and learn casino enforcement. That would also help spell Eamonn and give more responsibility to the Rez police.

Ferg was on duty at the station until further notice, like whenever we managed to dig out to relieve him. I had taken him aside privately after the meeting with Omar.

"Could be tomorrow we dig out, could be three days from now. What do you do if you need help and we're not there?"

Ferg smiled. "Deputize Ruby's nephew and my brother?"

I nodded. "In a pinch. You got it. Hopefully we'll get more help in a week or two."

After the informal meeting with Omar directly after the trial ended, we now entertained hope for two new deputies to be hired, and Ferg had heard Zack was back in town. Not sure how that might work, for Zack had disappeared for well over a year. He'd need to be reassessed, and Walt and I would have to see what he had been up to, as well as re-evaluate his fitness and mental health. That is, if he were interested at all.

Walt's voice rumbling under my cheek got my attention.

He sighed. "I'm hopeful the worst is over. I think Muldoon and I have a clear understanding and a truce here given the outcome of the trial, and I told Donna yesterday I couldn't do much for Andrew because he's been robbing banks and the FBI are involved. They still aren't too fond of us, even though they're relieved we did their work and got Cowboy Bill."

"Yeah Muldoon has been unexpectedly and ironically honorable and Andrew is totally fucked," I said into his chest, in a cross between husky and hoarse.

"Muldoon thinks you're cute. He called you my _cute Deputy Moretti._ " I could feel his hands tighten around my arms.

I inhaled sharply. That shouldn't disconcert me, but it did. It was a legacy of Philly, Gorski, Chance. I did not ever want to meet Muldoon, I just wanted him to stay out of my life and let me have my man. I did not want to know what Muldoon looked like, or who or where he was. Let the Feds look for him if they were so inclined.

If Walt was comfortable with the man's existence elsewhere, I was, too. It did occur to me that maybe Walt wasn't happy that Muldoon even considered me interesting.

I didn't want to add that Donna probably was just as fucked, because she had been aiding and abetting Cowboy Bill. It sort of like that fuzzy grey area where it became clear she hadn't exactly helped yet hadn't hindered the Zoloft Bandits. This one was a little more serious, accessory to felony bank robbery.

I was finally beginning to warm up a little, but only where we shared body contact. The fire was beginning to take the chill off, although the flames between us were as ever, present but banked. I wondered if I should attempt to change that beginning about _now…_

His arms suddenly enveloped me, and I realized I had begun to shiver a little, whether from cold, fear, excitement, or a combination plate of all three, I have no idea.

His head bent, lips nuzzling my neck and trailing along to find my ear. I suddenly got the glimmer that he was taking my indecision and turning it to his reality.

 _Well._ Maybe he had decided to test that banked fire thing on his own initiative? Joy surged through me, and my respect for his inclinations rose a notch, also my desire.

"I've always wanted to do that," he whispered. Outside the windows huge fluffy flakes drifted down, and between the flakes I could see a set of great wings swoop by, followed by hooting.

I smiled. I would share him with them if I had to, or they could share him with me. I was okay with that, either way.

Walt's lips turned upward, his cheek now bent to mine. "What can I say, they like the place?"

I swallowed. "I do, too. If you are going to stay now, I hope they will always have a home here. Indian beliefs aside," I amended. "The elk, too."

"Oh, you noticed the elk scat near the stables."

"When you were pounding in stakes. They must visit Horse frequently. I walked between the piles. I have learned a thing or two about Wyoming, you know."

He drew back a little. "I know you have." He began to bestow a trail of moist kisses along my neck. None of that teasing butterfly springtime stuff, this was definite blizzard foreplay. I retaliated by nipping his shoulder. That settled him back close rock-hard against me. I wanted him to understand right off I wanted to play, too, and would.

Dare I say, "The game was afoot?" It always seemed like Sherlock didn't get any. I meant to change that omission post-haste.

His hands became busy unbuttoning my shirt, making it far too late to search for clever phrases. Both of us were trying to kick off our boots at the same time, tangling our feet and laughing.

"We don't have to rush," I said, with a snort of laughter.

"Who's rushing?" he growled. "It feels like _years…"_

He had a point, but had he just _growled_ at me?

Snow, fire, _man_. There was a romantic aspect, but there was something way beyond that…the _lust_ that both of us thought we hid so well, but Lizzie, Gorski, Chance, Cady and others had glimpsed lurking behind the barriers.

The game might be afoot, but not me. He hoisted me over his shoulder and I laughed even harder.

"Neanderthal!" I swatted his denim-clad butt as he strode for the bedroom.

"Do that again, I liked it." Did he just _growl_ again?

I had his shirt-tails out by the time we passed the bedroom door with his improvised fireman's carry. And then I could say it all became a bit of a blur…

But I won't. I wouldn't deny the spectacle.

"Did you really wait until marriage—" My words came out muffled against the blankets as he tossed me onto the bed, ripping off his shirt and unbuckling faster than me, who takes longer to shimmy out of jeans. Well, he helped with that.

Last words for a while, way too occupied with being kissed and kissing everything I could reach, and then some. He carried a lot of real estate, all which begged thorough exploration. I can honestly say that after that, we didn't wait for much of anything, especially until marriage, but it was my first glimpse of him behind the door. Walt is so much more than he lets on.

 _***To be continued***_


	2. Chapter 2

**Happy for Now**

 **Part II**

A truth, I observe, while sorting ourselves out. Walt is sensitive. In the past, I said stupid things I didn't mean and hurt him, and then he would do the same back to me. It wasn't that we didn't like one another, didn't respect or despised one another. I don't know for him, but for me, it was a lifeline to keep the attraction at bay. It's not an intentional sniping war, it's about keeping our work and playing field level. Neither of us are great communicators with the other, neither of us want to hurt the other, so we hold things back. Trouble is, it just doesn't work for the private side of our lives.

So here it surfaces again. He carries me in over his shoulder, all action no talk, my guy. He tosses me on the bed. My shirt is gaping and my bra half off. It's then I see it, in his eyes. The great reveal, what he's never let me see before. Uncertainty, possibly _fear_. He's stood up to the likes of Chance Gilbert without batting an eyelash, and suddenly looks _terrified._ So what is it?

Performance issues? No. It's something more complex, deeper. While I've been laughing and swat at his butt while he carries me, I switch to a caress instead and go all soft inside at that realization. _He's not sure…of me?_

"You want to switch it out, slow it down?" I ask, and put my hand over his, where he's already unbuckling in anticipation of the main event. I hope I haven't misread the hesitation.

"No. That is, Vic." He struggles, and I feel the conflict, even under my hand. He wants to please me. He doesn't yet know if he will. My truth is, I know he will, but I want us both to be pleased.

"So you're sure the guys can handle things and we really have time?"

"The county owes me _years_ of overtime, and you weeks…when you covered for me after Barlow, at the very least. You haven't had any downtime since, since…"

It wasn't telepathy, I knew he was thinking after Chance, when Branch threw a hissyfit and I worked from the day after my kidnapping straight through. These things, this past I can't shake, may have something to do with our current predicament. Maybe I shouldn't have been so quick to dismiss Walt's suggestion of therapy. God, at minimum, we could _both_ use a few years of it.

I go to my knees and put my palms to the side of his head, the thumbs butterfly brushing his brows and cheeks, rapid divestment of garments momentarily delayed.

"It's okay. I'm here. If you say we have time, we have time, and I want this right for both of us. I'm not Donna, not Lizzie," and I forced myself to choke it out, "not Martha." I echoed my earlier thoughts. "I'm just me, and I want it to be so right for you, no second thoughts or regrets."

His eyes went skyward. He said, husky, "I don't deserve you, Vic. I want to make you happy. I know I'm not what you're used to." I heard unspoken words like _age_ and _endurance_ and all the hesitance of a man who has had too much time to leaf through his own insecurities.

I winced at his mention of my past. If Walt as Walt was different from most of the younger, brash authority figures in my past, it was more relief that he was nothing like my own dad, especially not anything remotely like the boys of my youth, to be totally brutal, was not a bad thing at all. That my past spontaneity had not led to happy relationships, another. His comment could cut either way.

"You make me happy just riding with you, talking with you. Being here, alone with you, already makes me more than happy. Whatever else does or doesn't happen here between us, it will be good." I tried for inspiration, so we could both get comfortable. Neither of us had lived a day together without acrimony since Branch had died. After Branch's murder, we covered for one another in silence, but when together, at first we sniped and snarled. That connection we'd had early on had sputtered since Branch's death. After it happened, we had not taken any time since then to spend time together without uniforms to figure out if it were lost or just hiding away until the tension eased. My one aborted attempt at bringing beer to the party had never reanimated anywhere else since Branch's death.

After Barlow's suicide-by-cop, more of the same. It was only after solving Donna's abduction that we went back to that uneasy truce and further into what I was absolutely certain went far beyond partnership—that easy banter and… _connection_.

The ten-ton elephant in the room which nobody would broach, the huge observable divide between us, belied the overwhelming attraction beneath the surface. At least, that's what I figured, and most of the time I thought I knew him pretty well.

I hoped that divide would close, and had been invisibly repaired by the verdict. Immediately would not be soon enough.

He cleared his throat. "Full disclosure, you should know it. I told Donna that Martha and I waited until marriage."

 _Waited? For sex_? I blinked. I thought of Lizzie, of Walt's smirk on Election Day morning, before I found Cady lying by the highway hurt. I had been pretty sure he hadn't waited, the night before, not then.

"Lizzie?" I asked, tentative.

"That's what was wrong between Lizzie and me. We didn't wait, and we—twice in one night. The second time made me realize I didn't know her at all, I didn't even like her. I just went with the quick gratification thing and paid for it later."

"You weren't ready." I tilted my head and slowly stood up. I took his hand, and tugged him by it, nudging him into his well-worn and obviously well-loved reading chair by the window. While snow fell soft and blanket-like outside, but the chill of it emanated from the window.

The fireplace in the other room was beginning to take hold now, and it was wafting back, but I knew we'd still be cold for a while. I could smell the mixture of woods burning away in the fireplace, and sighed with the pleasure of a remote retreat and the rustic pleasures of snow and woodsmoke. Without any further thought, I dragged the comforter off the bed.

Compliant Walt, a very different animal than the hungry one a few minutes before, now watched with a curious half-smile, maybe still threaded with uncertainty.

I wondered if he might want to talk now with privacy and time. Well, I wanted that, too, and this was a wonderful chance for it. I arranged myself on his lap, laid my head on his shoulder, and drew the comforter over us. I felt him relax under me like an overstrung bow unwinding. I grinned in memory at Omar's archery lesson and how I still applied it to other facets of life.

"Better?" My voice was low.

The huge sigh of relief expanded his chest under my cheek. We'd get there. I still remembered his words about the Sharps rifle on the first case we'd really worked together, _"It still gets the job done."_ I figured he was better than any Sharps ever had been, but to let us unfold at our pace, not how the world thought it should be.

"Tell me about Lizzie, then."

"It just wasn't right. After Lizzie, Henry helped me fix things, but I still felt…dirty."

"Fix things?"

"Indian remedy, maybe a little drastic, but it seemed to work."

"Did it have something to do with your chest? I splayed my palms flat against his chest, where, shirt open, it lay bare under the blanket. "You favored and rubbed it there for weeks after Cady was hurt."

He gave a wry grin. "You don't miss much."

"Naw, someone told me once I should consider a career in law enforcement."

He huffed at that.

Under the blanket, I slid my hands outward, spread his shirt back and peeled it off his shoulders. I had seen them before, the whitish scars over his pectorals. I touched them now with my fingertips, before kissing each one, lingering. He'd been brutal to himself. I knew of the Cheyenne Sundance. It was the only Indian ritual I could find which would do that. I know I felt a little sick when I first read about it, piercing and torture to prove one's self.

I lifted my head and whispered it. "For Cady." I ran my fingers over the nearby scar on his upper shoulder. "For me." And then I skimmed my fingertips down his side to the places where Tamar's [bullet had gone all the way through during the home invasion. I bent almost double to kiss the low scar in front and he inhaled sharply. "For Donna."

I didn't want to ask if there were any from Martha.

He took his palm and laid it across my belly. I looked to him in surprise.

"I wish that baby had been mine. I hope any more babies will be. Mine."

He had managed to take my breath away. I couldn't hide the pain, the joy in my eyes. I blinked slow as his arms came around me, and I tilted my forehead against his.

If I said it, I might ruin the moment, ruin everything, but I had to.

I said hoarsely, "I don't want to be a mistake. I don't want _us_ to be a mistake." Even after everything we had been through together, this remained my ongoing fear, that I would join the ranks of Lizzie and Donna in his past, not those of his future.

"You could never be a mistake. At first, I denied how I felt because of Sean. I couldn't do that to another man. After he filed for divorce, especially after he left, I thought I was ready. I released Martha's ashes, but Jacob scot-free rose up and got the better of me. I almost…anyway, Henry stopped me, but before I could regroup, Branch was murdered. I thought I'd caused it by ignoring Branch and focusing on Jacob, but that if I got close to you, you might be next. I…lost my way."

I didn't speak right away, absorbing that. My eyes were closed, my face in the crook of his neck.

"And after Barlow? What happened?"

He shook his head as though he sought to clear it. In truth, I still believe that time may never be clear for him. He refused to discuss it, but I think he still didn't remember that, or what exactly what had happened between us. The wrenching pain, the loneliness. At least he acknowledged it now.

"I'm—not sure. I think I was trying to date someone who reminded me of Martha, someone safe. Someone other people would approve of, someone I couldn't hurt and couldn't hurt me back."

That surprised me. "You don't think you hurt Donna?"

"No, I don't. In my interview with Andrew, I believe he revealed more about his mother than he realized. She may care about Andrew, but more about herself. Strong survival skills."

"So, Donna was safe compared to me?" Cady's call from the hospital still haunted me. I remember sitting by his bed in the hospital, praying as I hadn't since I was a kid.

The Prince always wakes Sleeping Beauty, right? That morning our roles had reversed and he was obviously Prince Charming. That's why I kissed him, playing into Tucker's hands, even if it might never happen again, _especially_ if it wasn't ever going to happen again.

I hadn't been sure how he felt about that for a long time now, but his words in the Bronco after the deposition helped. He didn't exactly embrace it, but he wasn't angry about it, either.

"It sounds like you're really saying, you were looking for someone not like me?"

He made a noncommittal noise through his nose.

"Walt. No more hurt, on either side, pact between us?"

"I don't want any more hurt for either of us, but you have to do it, you have to tell me what to do to please you, Vic." There we were, back to whatever shadows lurked behind his eyes. "I'm not so young as your other men, and my sexual experience has been limited the in last quarter century."

It was me, suddenly shy, not wanting to ask about his past, or discuss my spotty one. I hoped mentioning her name didn't ruin it between us. I overcome my hesitation and blurted it out, a ghost of a smile on my lips, "Updates. Reboots. Sort of like computers and cell phones, huh? Was that why you went for Donna, a contemporary?"

He made that noise again. My smile broadened and I held him, letting my touch tell him what my words didn't. My touch seemed to move to his buckle of its own volition.

"Were you able to please Martha when you were a young guy?" I slipped my hand beneath the denim.

"I think so, she said I did." His head went down, watching the progress of my hand. Then my touch registered, _there_ , his eyes met mine and the irises turned from that bright blue to almost black.

 _Well, well._

"Then it will be even better between us now. Don't sell yourself short. Age and experience _do_ count. Here's a secret, just for you." I leaned in to capture his earlobe with my teeth, and whispered, "Sean didn't always please me." Well below his belt, I squeezed and stroked.

He gasped. I couldn't call it anything else. His head lifted, his eyes glistening as though something had freed him.

"But—" I added, "You will. I'm halfway there already, just touching you." I laid my free palm against his chest again in illustration, and took one of his hands, placing it where it counted, to demonstrate I was already damp. He shouldn't have to question his prowess if mere proximity was enough.

Action man returned. He surged to his feet with me in his arms and moved us to the bed. He may not have had the finesse of a James Bond, but he acquitted himself enough to make me vocal, something Sean had always hated. Walt was direct, thorough, and proficient enough to make us both convulse in delight, me enough times to surprise me. His endurance and his persistence astonished me. He would not let me be until I flew apart, and proceeded to nudge me back for more.

When we had both subsided for the moment, he dragged the comforter back over us. The fireplace was throwing a glow over the room and made it toasty enough so the icy window now ran in rivulets. I lay tangled with him, face against his shoulder. My hand reached up and brushed his face. It was wet. I stilled. What _happened_? What had I done?

"Are you all right?" I had to whisper it. I didn't trust my voice.

He shook his head he wasn't, but I stroked the hair on his head and rubbed his back until he eventually stopped. I could only think he sought _comfort_. My only conclusion was that he had gotten precious little of it since he'd become a deputy a quarter century ago. Martha was no-nonsense, and his grief over losing her had overpowered him. The county had collected its toll, Cady had moved to her new life, and the accumulation of losses had left him bereft.

Until now. When he said it, I wasn't prepared. He pulled me onto his chest and kissed me.

"I love you, Vic. I wasted so much time when it could have been like this."

He was right, but I had also _needed_ time to figure out my own spontaneous fuck-ups. After Gorski, I hadn't been left in a very good place, even with Sean. The bumpy road after had not been an easy journey for either of us.

"It will be even better for it now." I have no idea if that helped in the scheme of things. We were both rumpled and sticky, and although I thought him adorable like that, he seemed uncomfortable. He grunted and disappeared into the bathroom, returning in a few minutes with a damp towel.

"May I?" One corner of my mouth turned up. Ever the gentleman. Why not? Of course I let him, and while he was busy, and as he slid the cloth across my own sticky rumples, I could see his obvious interest returning, I had an inspirational idea, long suppressed during my ill-fitting marriage. I took the towel from him and tossed it away, pressing his arms to the bed. If he enjoyed it, I hoped it might propel him from his funk.

"Let me show you my favorite way, one Sean hated." He looked faintly amused, but his eyes darkened as I swung up over him, comforter abandoned.

I'd show that cowboy I could ride.


End file.
